In the canon of revolutionary and historically resonant filmmakers, you rarely find someone who has left quite as much of an impression on cinema as Jean Renoir, whose entire life was defined by the constant pursuit of a new kind of artistic expression, which he inherited from his equally important artistically-minded family. A provocative voice in terms of both narrative and visual compositions, he frequently redefined what it meant to be a filmmaker, as well as being present in the industry long enough to witness the transition from silent to sound cinema as well as oversee the rise of the French New Wave, much of which was crafted in response to his exceptional work. However, as much as we could wax poetic about Le Grande Illusion or The Rules of the Game (two extraordinary films on their own merits), or any of his canonical masterpieces, the one that I’m interested in exploring is Baby’s Laxative (French: On purge bébé), a film as delightfully deranged as its title may suggest, and twice as entertaining, being an adaptation of the play by Georges Feydeau. The film follows an afternoon in a bustling provincial home, owned by the pernickety M. Follavoine, who prides himself on having created a chamberpot that is made of unbreakable porcelain, an achievement constantly diminished by his wife, who is more concerned that their son won’t drink his laxative. This stressful day is made only worse by the arrival of M. Chouilloux, a wealthy investor who is interested in funding the chamberpot enterprise – but very soon, everything goes off the rails as more characters weave in and out of the story, presenting new complications to an already bizarre story. A hilarious and irreverent work that happens to be the first voyage into sound cinema for the director, Baby’s Laxative is an absolute delight, and has aged just as well as some of his more notable directorial efforts, both formally and narratively.

Renoir had an exceptionally long career, working in film for nearly half a century. Everyone will respond to his work differently, and find more value in particular eras over the others. Yet, it’s almost universally agreed that his output in the 1930s was inarguably his most productive and compelling period, for several reasons that are made very clear the further we allow ourselves to peer into the circumstances that led to the creation of these works. The satires he made during this period are some of the greatest ever produced, and while they weren’t always as sharply defined as those produced by peers like Marcel Pagnol and Alexander Korda (with whom Renoir had quite a firm companionship as far as satirists who dominated the French film industry in the period between the two wars), they compensated with sheer ambition. Baby’s Laxative is one of the most scathing criticisms of the bourgeoisie and their self-serving manners, with every moment of this film being a shocking indictment of their bizarre way of life. Considering he hailed from a family that was relatively wealthy, and not necessarily a starving artist by any stretch of the imagination, Renoir had firsthand knowledge of these conventions, which he seamlessly weaves into the deranged and often quite provocative satire. His modus operandi is something that we don’t often see in many satires, namely the unsettling nature of banality, with the entire film essentially just being a series of wacky conversations between characters as they constantly bring up their trivial concerns, their conversations punctuated by the most bizarre activities that make it very clear that the director is indicating his incredulity towards the lifestyle of the rich, who he views as far from as elegant as they appear on the surface, and instead are as vapid and dull as the people they look down upon, leading to some wonderfully deranged commentary.

Formally, Baby’s Laxative has some very unique elements that keep us wholeheartedly engaged, even when we don’t quite understand their significance. One of Renoir’s greatest strengths was as a writer, and while he was adapting an existing text, he does rework the dialogue a substantial amount, adding his own unique flourishes to an already fascinating play that he seamlessly adapts to the screen. To be fair, there isn’t anything particularly innovative about the form this film takes – the entire story takes place in the same two or three rooms that represent this supposedly sprawling manor, but we hardly notice how stage-bound it is, based on the enthusiasm with which he approaches this plot. The film moves at a rapid-fire pace, to the point where it feels even shorter than its 52 minutes (which is the perfect length for such a film – any shorter and it would have felt rushed, any longer and it would have overstayed its welcome), and we find that it never dwells on a particular idea for more time than was necessary. Instead, the focus is on developing a film in which the audience is looking into the lives of these characters, trying to decode what they represent as a whole, which leads to some brilliantly engaging, off-the-wall ideas that feel oddly ahead of their time. The dialogue itself is fascinating – this is a case of a film where many words are spoken, but absolutely nothing is said, an intentional choice based around the concept we can refer to as absurdité courante, or “fluent nonsense” – it looks and sounds authentic, until we realise the words are hollow, standing in place to give off the illusion of depth. It’s a tricky concept, but one that Renoir pulls off splendidly.

In terms of performers, Renoir enlists three of the very best in the business – Jacques Louvigny is the foul-tempered inventor who is desperate to convince an investor that his product (which we soon learn is entirely faulty – the very concept of unbreakable porcelain is deranged in itself), while not realising that he is essentially being strung along by everyone around him. Marguerite Pierry is his combative wife who doesn’t offer him an ounce of support, and actually views his scatterbrained efforts to make a living as actively detrimental to their family, since he’s clearly not earning enough to maintain their hedonistic lifestyle. The two leads are fantastic, but the moment Baby’s Laxative truly comes to life is with the arrival of Michel Simon, who is quite simply one of the greatest actors to ever work in the medium of film, and someone who played a substantial role in Renoir’s development as a filmmaker. Only someone like Simon could take as bland and thinly-written a role as Chouilloux and make him the most enduring and entertaining part of the film – every line spoken is hilarious, each gesture an absolute riot, and while he may be considered something of a ham by viewers in hindsight, there isn’t anything about his performance here that feels inauthentic or unearned, since he is clearly making the most of quite a limited character, ultimately becoming by far the most memorable part of a film that is very much driven by its cast and their commitment to these gonzo, off-the-wall characters that needed precise, consistent performers to fully sell its absurd premise, and they all do spectacularly well.

While it can be argued that Baby’s Laxative is more of a delightful, darkly comical confection than it is an entirely daring and provocative work (especially in relation to the work Renoir would do later on in this decade – even this same year, he wrote and directed Le chienne, one of his landmark works), there is still an abundance of merit in this film, which has proven to be a far more enthralling experience than many of us may have anticipated based on a cursory glance. It’s wonderfully inventive, especially considering the limited constraints, which Renoir viewed as a challenge more than a restriction – he famously set out to make the film in less than a month, with the process between writing the screenplay and finishing the production taking only three months, which may seem likely considering the very limited nature of the narrative, but which ultimately proves to be the exact quality that sets this film apart from many other similarly-themed works at the time. It’s very funny, has no shortage of compelling moments and is filled with memorable characters, each one representing a very different archetype that come together to create something quite memorable. Not his most signature work, but rather a delightful footnote in an expansive, iconic career, Baby’s Laxative is truly captivating and worth every minute of our time.